


pulse point

by mysterymistakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (like with blood), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Kink, Established Relationship, Feeding, M/M, Minor Manhandling, Oral Sex, Teeth, minor strength kink, odontophilia, pretty much all the usual trappings of a vamp au, vamp dimitri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterymistakes/pseuds/mysterymistakes
Summary: “Dimitri, you know better than this.” Sylvain calls out. He ignores the way his feet sink into the plush carpet, the way he knows that the fireplaces have been lit for him, disregards the bowls of fresh fruit and cured meats that Dimitri has no doubt procured with Sylvain in mind. Sylvain’s feet carry him forward, directed by the blood in his veins as it calls for its counterpart.Dimitri's gone too long without blood.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 105





	pulse point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinningpumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinningpumpkin/gifts).



> congrats to pumpkin for winning my fic giveaway! hope u like.

Sylvain wakes up to find a formal summons at his door. 

He accepts it from the page boy (who is green and quite flustered to see the Margrave Gautier in a state of disarray) and slides his finger underneath the wax seal with a yawn, not bothering to look at the stamp carefully pressed into the ultramarine-blue holding the parchment together. There’s only one office in the land with that color. 

_Come at once._

Oh. 

Sylvain sobers quickly. He brings a hand to rub at the joint between his neck and his shoulder, thumbing softly over the twin pinprick scars there as he dictates his equally quipped response of _I will be there by sundown_. The message is to be carried by wyvern, and his mount is to be readied posthaste. Within the hour, he’s tacked saddlebags to his horse and made for Fhirdiad.

He rides long and hard, takes only short breaks for food and rest (and to tell Willow, the lovely gray mare that she is, how well she’s doing and how many treats she’ll get once they arrive at Dimitri’s stables), and comes galloping through the castle gates as the sky starts to melt from pinky-orange into black. There’s a young squire who has yet to grow into his court robes waiting anxiously for him, wringing his hands and worrying his lip as Sylvain dismounts. Willow lets herself be led to a lovely paddock, his bags are whisked away, no doubt to a spare room that he’ll have to go find come morning, and the squire greets him with a deep bow and a look of utter relief. They stride though the palace in a blur of blue and silver and twelve-pointed stars. Dimitri, it seems, has barricaded himself in his quarters after sending an express message to Gautier territory. It’s been two days.

Sylvain feels something like anger bubble in the pit of his stomach as they round the final corner to Dimitri’s chambers. Dimitri must have overworked himself again, too many early mornings and late nights, and now it’s taking its toll. His hands flex and curl. The squire excuses himself once they’re in front of the huge double doors, dark and heavy with the crest of Blaiddyd carved in a slash across them both. Sylvain flings them open like they’re made of air, and is greeted with stone silence.

“Dimitri, you _know better than this._ ” Sylvain calls out. He ignores the way his feet sink into the plush carpet, the way he knows that the fireplaces have been lit for him, disregards the bowls of fresh fruit and cured meats that Dimitri has no doubt procured with Sylvain in mind. Sylvain’s feet carry him forward, directed by the blood in his veins as it calls for its counterpart.

Dimitri looks a fucking wreck.

Sylvain finds him in the bedchamber, freshly bathed and sopping wet, hair stringy and sticking to his face as he peers hollowly at the intruder in the doorway. His skin has taken on an awful pallor, greyish and sickly and _Flames,_ thinks Sylvain, _he must be miserable._ Sylvain’s blood cries for him, calls out to the space between them, begs Sylvain to turn himself over and give himself up. Sylvain blinks, and Dimitri is in front of him, close enough to feel every heavy breath as it lands on his face. He brings his hands to cup Dimitri’s cheeks; they’re cool to the touch, and it makes his stomach drop. He presses a kiss to cold lips. All of his annoyance, his anger from before at Dimitri’s idiocy at going so long without blood that it’s driven him to confinement melts from him in a second. The bond woven into his flesh takes over, and it revels in the pinch of fangs into his bottom lip as he draws back, relishes in the unadulterated _hunger_ that overtakes Dimitri’s expression at the single drop of ruby red blood rolling down Sylvain’s chin. Sylvain sighs, nods.

Dimitri appears at Sylvain’s back. His cold hands hover, a hair’s breadth from Sylvain’s warm, freckled skin, awaiting permission less than patiently. He’s always been like this, always asking Sylvain if it was alright to take, even if it meant suppressing instincts so easy to lean in to. Sylvain loves him for it, loves the way Dimitri makes him feel appreciated, like he’s more than just ( _a blood bag,_ sneers a corpse) something to be drained and discarded.

During the war, this had not held true.

Dimitri avoids talking about it. Sylvain knows he hates himself for the way he took and took until Sylvain was just this side of dead, the way he did it over and over and over again to drive his bloodlust and fuel his fury. Some small, loathsome part of Sylvain had loved it, thrived from being simply made use of, but it’s good that Dimitri’s salvation had come when it did, because Sylvain’s body would have crumbled. He much prefers this, anyway. Dimitri’s reparations are woven into every action, present in the display of meats for Sylvain on the small table, felt in the homeliness of his quarters and the warmth of the crackling fireplace.

Dimitri’s hands tremble slightly as they seek their charge. They’re always hesitant in their want, always the same as the first time when little Dimitri, flaxen-blonde and wide-eyed, had so carefully waited for Sylvain to bare his neck. It was strange then, weird and painful and laden with the weight of their freshly-cemented partnership.

Now, it’s _euphoric._

Dimitri’s teeth sink in after Sylvain’s breathy _I’m ready._ Quick and practiced, they break the scars on his neck, long and powerful and hungry as they pierce the thin skin. Dimitri is all-encompassing, arms wrapped tightly around Sylvain in the primal instinct to entrap his prey, prevent them from running as he takes all they have to give, but Sylvain melts into him. He gasps as Dimitri starts to really _feed_ . The endorphins hit him all at once; they leave him weak, leave him powerless to do anything except collapse into Dimitri’s vice-grip arms. His vision blurs as tears well up in his eyes and he’s drunk on it, drugged by Dimitri’s fangs. He hears moans tumbling from his open mouth, saying something like _yes, more, Dimitri._ Liquid pleasure courses through his veins, and Sylvain has never been happier to spill blood. He can’t get enough. Against his neck, Dimitri growls low as he grows warmer, as life bleeds back into him, drinking in great, greedy gulps. Sylvain adores how he indulges himself, how Dimitri gorges on his blood. It makes him feel _worthy_. 

Sylvain immediately misses Dimitri’s fangs once they’re gone, but they’re replaced by the lave of a warm, wet tongue, lapping up the few stray drops of blood that escaped. Sylvain shivers. His mind has gone hazy, empty of everything save for _Dimitri_ , and he’s never felt more wanted than from within the confines of Dimitri’s arms. He loves the soft kisses being pressed over the wound, lets himself feel weightless and cared for when Dimitri scoops him up with ease to drop him on the giant, plush bed. Sylvain curls into him. He’s been rendered bone-tired, like he’d been riding for a week straight, but there’s an underlying heat to his exhaustion in the aphrodisiac of the bite. Sylvain knows it’s part of Dimitri, an ancient tactic to keep prey trapped and bound and coming back for more that Dimitri loathes, but he can’t find himself to mind all that much, not when Dimitri presses a carafe to his lips, encourages him to drink with a hand on his jaw, caresses down the length of his neck to press long fingers into the bite mark. It shoots electricity down Sylvain’s spine. His mouth drops open with a gasp; some of the water dribbles down to pool in the hollow of his throat. He gets his first look at the revived Dimitri as he’s leaning over Sylvain to place the water on a bedside table. The pallor is gone, the corpseish grey nowhere to be found. He moves with fluidity and strength, and it makes Sylvain’s heart swell that _he_ did that, that he’s the one Dimitri trusts to bring him back to life. Carefully, he raises a shaky hand to Dimitri’s cheek. It’s warm and flush where he draws his thumb over the soft skin, and Sylvain finds himself smiling as Dimtiri leans into his palm. 

Sylvain’s thumb finds its way to the corner of Dimitri’s mouth. It slides over his plush, pink lips, and they part for him with a hot breath. He pushes Dimitri’s top lip up. 

“Let me see.” He breathes. 

Sylvain blinks, and there they are: two perfect fangs that jut out amongst the rest of his teeth. Carefully, he traces over the gentle curve, nail scraping against the enamel. They glint in the low light. Sylvain can’t help it as his mind wanders, as he wonders what they must look like covered in his blood. The thought makes the aphrodisiac yet lying in his veins rear its head. Dimitri makes a noise low in the back of his throat as that familiar hunger starts to bleed back into his expression. Sylvain loves his fangs, loves their promise of pleasure and their inherent danger. He lets the soft, vulnerable pad of his thumb catch on a fang as he pulls it from Dimitri’s mouth. It slides right though the skin, splits it open easier than any blade ever could. Red runs down the side. The ruby droplet slides over the curve of his palm. It gathers at the juncture of his wrist and drops to stain the white sheets. 

“Whoops.” 

Dimitri surges into him, pins Sylvain to the bed as he licks his way into Sylvain’s mouth. Sylvain eagerly opens for him, gasps when he feels the hard length of Dimitri’s cock grind down against his own. With a guttural growl, Dimitri shreds Sylvain’s clothes from his body, leaving him naked and wanting with a flush spreading hot from the tops of his cheekbones out to his ears. Dimitri’s hands, strong and deft, fly over his body, pressing into all the places on Sylvain where there’s those two little twin scars, no more noticeable than freckles. He follows them with his mouth, kisses the delicate blue veins just barely visible through the skin of his wrist, the crux of his elbow, the soft insides of Sylvain’s thighs. 

It’s overwhelming. Each kiss sears into his skin and stokes the fire in his belly, makes the scar on his neck throb and sends pleasure though his body. They make him bloom for Dimitri, wanton and beautiful. He’s not prepared for when Dimitri sucks him down, much less for the way that his fangs slide along either side of his cock to make him _scream._ His back arches and he fists his hands into Dimitri’s still-damp hair, pulling at the strands with a vengeance that just serves to make Dimitri groan and spurs him forward. Dimitri takes Sylvain down all the way, laving his tongue against the sensitive underneath of Sylvain’s cock before hollowing his cheeks and sucking. He pulls back up almost painfully slowly, so that Sylvain can’t help but lay there and take it, can’t help but dissolve beneath him into a moaning mess. His cock is trapped between Dimitri’s fangs, strung out between pleasure and pain and teetering on the edge of release. Tears well up in his eyes. Dimitri comes off of Sylvain’s cock with an obscene _pop!_ He leers over Sylvain, heedless to the pleas that spill from him. Fat tears slide down Sylvain’s cheeks as he mourns the loss of Dimitri’s touch. 

Dimitri presses hard into the bruise on Sylvain’s neck, and he _wails._ His whole body shakes like a leaf as he comes hard, blood singing and streaking white all over Dimitri’s hand and his stomach as he’s stroked through it. His hands unfurl themselves from where they’ve twisted into the sheets as breaths heave in and out from his lungs. Dimitri is still hard against his thigh. 

It’s going to be a long, long night. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> i can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mysterymistakes)


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